


Face Time

by Rhanon_Brodie



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, Norman Reedus - Freeform, Norman Reedus / Original Character(s) - Freeform, Phone Sex, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhanon_Brodie/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It gives a whole new meaning to phone sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Face Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nmbr1Fanilow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nmbr1Fanilow/gifts).



> As requested by Nmbr1Fanilow, with a nod to Incog_Ninja. My first post here on AO3 so I'm still working the kinks out...heh heh heh

It was an art opening. Another artist in his small circle of friends was showing new pieces and he wasted no time calling you and asking you to join him. Of course you’d go with him; these days it was rare to be in the same room, let alone the same state with him. Even as he wandered through with his roundabout way of asking, you were reaching into your closet for the dress he’d picked out for you the last time you’d met up with him in New York.

“I mean, if you’re not busy,” he rasped, and you could almost see him pacing the gleaming wood floors of his apartment, rubbing at the back of his head.

You told him you weren’t and so here you are, smiling and laughing, being the dutiful girlfriend. Even though he’s not one for public displays of affection, you know that every time he pulls out that phone with one hand and pulls you close with the other that you’re the only one he sees. He takes selfies, half hiding his face in your neck, cropping the frame so that only your eye, and maybe his upper lip shows. When he’s done he shows you, gets the go ahead from you, and posts it to his Instagram. He opens his mouth to say something when he hears his name. He closes his eyes briefly, and you stifle a laugh at his put out expression. “I’ll be…” he explains, nodding to where he’s been beckoned.

“Go,” you smile, waving him off. “I can take care of myself.”

“You wanna go soon?”

You shrug. It’s not a bad scene, the music is decent and there’s still plenty of champagne. You snag a glass as a waiter wanders by. “Take your time,” you encourage. You’re used to watching him from afar because you know that he’s coming back to you. And the anticipation makes for killer sex.

He flashes another one of his elusive smiles and steps forward to squeeze your hand in his and press a quick kiss to your cheek. “You’re beautiful.” Moving back, he looks at you, and the deep longing in his gaze settles warm and thick in your veins.

He retreats into the crowd, waving at whoever has called him over, and you turn and wander along the show pieces, chatting with the other attendees, making them laugh, charming them as you always seem to do. But even as you work the room, the lingering, heady warmth of his gaze surrounds you and you know that he’s tracking you as you weave in and out of the crowd. That, combined with the champagne, makes you excuse yourself politely from the current couple you’re discussing a painting with, and you make your way out of the main hall, towards the ladies’ room.

***********************

He watches you go. He’d been half tuned into the conversation, his eyes following you as you chatted and sipped champagne, and made other men laugh. He’s not the jealous type; he has no use for it, but still, he hadn’t been lying when he said you were beautiful. It’s the first time he’s seen the dress on you, all wrapped up in delicate aubergine silk. Smooth beneath his fingers as his hand lingered on your hip; it didn’t compare to the softness of your skin beneath his lips as he kissed your cheek. 

He’s missed you, more than he cares to admit, but he’s not afraid to go with it and see where it takes him. When he spots you drifting from the crowd, he sees his chance, offers the excuse of having a cigarette, and ditches the dregs of his whiskey on a nearby table. He hasn’t had you alone since March; he’d landed in the city two days ago but you had appointments and he’d had a parent teacher meeting, and tonight has been a true test of willpower. Too many people for his taste, but he’s come to accept it with the territory. Sometimes, though, it weighs heavily and he needs a chance to escape. He smiles at the thought – it seems, as you steal down a hallway, that you need it, too.

************************

The corridor off the lobby is huge, and blessedly empty. The click of your heels echoes as you wander across the marble floors, eyeing the arched ceilings. The chatter from the exhibit, though muted, lingers, and you duck down a softly lit hallway and find the door to the ladies’ room. You slip inside, and that same warm, soft lighting from the hallway surrounds you in the sitting area. There’s a long, wide counter, and ornately framed mirrors are hung periodically along the wall. Stepping to one, you take a breath and open the small clutch that hangs from your wrist, and dig through it, finally finding the discreet little one-hitter. You unscrew the cap to ensure it’s full, and you fumble with it. The metal cap falls to the floor with a clatter, and rattles as it rolls to a stop.

“Shit,” you mutter, dropping to your knees and searching. When you’ve found it, you stand, smoothing the length of your dress down your thighs. Movement in the mirror catches your eye. He’s found you, and you watch as he slips inside and attempts to close the door without making any sound at all.

His eyes flick to yours and he smiles. “You thought you could sneak away.”

“I just needed a moment,” you reply easily. Tucking the tiny pipe away, you close your purse and set it to one side, watching as he moves in behind you.

His hands come down on the counter on either side of you, trapping you between marble and his body. All at once, the soft, spicy scent of cloves and cigarettes surrounds you and you shift in your shoes. He leans down and the scruff on his chin slides along your bare shoulder and lingers, and he hums after a soft, slow inhale. Turning his head, his nose runs along the curve of your neck and he mouths the waves of your hair aside and says very gently, “I missed you.”

“I was mingling.” You try to ignore the heat of him as he steps a little closer. You catch his eyes in the mirror, and desire flickers in those hot blue depths.

“I saw,” he says, his breath puffing hot against your skin. “Good girl.” His arm comes up and wraps around your body, his hand curling protectively over your shoulder.

You chuckle, and then turn your head to kiss his thumb. His free hand is busy, and your breath catches as his fingertips trace along the hem of your dress and finally slide it up, exposing the black lace of your panties to the mirror’s gaze. A short, deep hum vibrates in your ear and electricity crackles between your hips. There’s no way to hide your heat from his roaming hand; when his palm slides up and rests on your belly, you feel your muscles quiver. That tiny flutter brings his head up, and you watch his reflection as he pulls his lip between his teeth. When his fingers flex again, your eyes drop to where he’s touching you, dipping his middle finger just past the waistband of your panties to slowly slide around the curve of your hip. Then, his hand is gone. He’s no longer touching you, and you throb painfully between your thighs.

The clank of his belt buckle opening is obscenely loud and on instinct, your hands land on the counter, bracing yourself for what you know is coming. Looking to his reflection once more, the air is sucked from your lungs, only to come back full force, hot and panting, as you watch him, his dark head tilted down as he looks down at where he’s grasping himself in what you know is a tight fist.

“Wait.” The word is breathless and you’re reluctant to move, but the idea has been burning in your brain since the last time you Face-Timed with him – he in his trailer, you in your studio. You almost stand but his thighs press against the back of yours so instead, you tilt your head to one side, and over your shoulder you say, “Give me your phone.”

His brow furrows in confusion, clearly not up to speed with your plans. It’s okay; once he figures it out, you know he’ll be game. Reaching into the low pocket of his open pants that hang off the curve of his ass, he fishes the device out and hands it over to you. You dial your number and hand it back, and then turn once more and arch your back, pressing your ass against his dick. The thick length of him is standing at full attention, rubbing against the lace of your panties, and the feel of the velvet heat of his balls flush against you is divine.

Inside your clutch, your phone starts ringing, the rapid gunfire drums of a punk rock song you picked out especially for him. Snaring the tiny bag, you dig your phone out, smiling at the caller ID photo that is an adorable sun-kissed selfie that you took on your last vacation, faces squinting up into the camera. You accept his Face Time call.

A groan leaves one of you, or perhaps both, and without another word, your panties are torn down. With his hand still on his cock, he pushes into you, and you feel your body claimed by his mass deep inside. His other hand holds his phone steady, aiming the camera at where he’s slowly stretching you, inch by agonizing inch.

On your own phone, the view is as delicious as it is mind-blowing, and your hair curtains around your face as you watch, in vivid detail, as he fucks you, forcing his length inside, only to draw back out, glistening with each push. Every pull makes you wetter.

You can’t control the hungry whimper of your voice as he holds himself still inside of you. He’s pushed so far in that his hipbones are grinding against your flesh, making your eyes drift shut at the full feeling. And then, just when you didn’t think it was possible to feel any dizzier, he flexes that muscle and makes his cock thud just behind your bellybutton. 

Another rush of air passes over your lips, harsh, burning. When you finally open your eyes, they are unfocused, and you lift your gaze to meet his in the mirror. He’s smugly smiling back, obviously pleased with the reaction he’s gotten from you. You lick your lips in anticipation and your eyes beg him to do it again.

“Did you like that baby?” His voice is so soft, and it rolls over every nerve like honey. He doesn’t need your verbal answer – it’s written all over your face. “Hmmmm,” he rumbles deep in his chest. “I think you did.”

His next move is sharp, leaving your body and making you crazy. The borderline helpless feeling is short lived and he drives back into you, reaching places that probably shouldn’t even be touched. He flexes that muscle again, grinding right inside. The sound you make reverberates in the empty cavern of the room.

He settles a hand on your lower back and rubs up to between your shoulder blades before pushing you down. The cold marble of the counter presses up against the heated skin of your chest, and your face is parallel to the phone screen that shows you the way he owns your pussy. You see in real time what you’re feeling: he’s relentless, railing you deeper, stoking a dangerous fire within the tight, wet confines of your cunt.

He’s breathing harder now, through his nose, grunting between breaths. “You gonna come for Daddy?” he murmurs. “Hhm? You gonna come on Daddy’s cock?” There’s a pause in his speech and your brain rushes to catch up with your body, nerves crashing together with shocking vibration, and then, “Let me see you come.”

His final command is growled, and makes you spasm around him and you lose your rhythm watching the phone, watching the veins in his cock throb each time he pulls out of you, his length dripping with your ecstasy. With another deep plunge of his hips, his cock disappears entirely and you feel him flexing involuntarily, causing shockwaves throughout his body. He’s shaking, almost uncontrollably, and the force of it causes his cum to trickle out from where you’re joined. You catalogue each warm drop of it as it lands on your inner thigh. 

On camera, his dick begins to soften, but you can still see him pulsing. You can feel it, too. His forehead is damp when it lands on your back, and his breath is coming in harsh puffs, raspy from years of smoking. Your head rests on your forearms as the hammering of your pulse begins to lessen. His hand swipes down your back, over your ass and then around your hip as he eases himself from the snug, quivering heat of your body. From your hip, his hand moves around, taking hold of you, brushing the soft curls that cover where he had filled you so completely. He holds you there with firm reassurance. Shaking your hair from your face, you find his eyes in the mirror and smile, letting him know that you’re okay to stand.

Your panties are pulled back up, and he gives you one last loving thump to the ass before dropping the hem of your dress and pulling at your elbow, helping you stand. You hear his zipper and sigh, and the quick snap of his belt refastening does funny things to your heartbeat. Turning, you are met with his hands cradling your jaw, and he flicks his dark hair from his eyes before giving you his softest, most secret smile. He kisses you a moment later, lips gentle and sure, and he murmurs, “You sure you don’t wanna get out of here?”

You heave a groan of approval at the suggestion, but you know that he still has a few more people to talk to. “I think I’m set for at least an hour,” you reply.

His response is a smooth chuckle. He knows how you operate, and it’s no secret that you both like to tease each other in a crowded room. He gathers you under one arm and pushes the door open. You leave the bathroom together, less than an inch separating you at any given time. The rest of the evening is spent glued to one another, and slowly, the anticipation begins to smoulder once more.


End file.
